


Toil and Trouble

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, WTF, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco sleeps with Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emeraldawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldawn/gifts).



> A/N: Holiday ficlet for mah dear buddy Emeraldawn who asked for Draco on Draco action. I don’t even...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It isn’t until the dead of night that Draco slips out of his bed, puts on his robe, creaks open his door, and tiptoes down the hall. The manor is eerily silent, the stone floor cold against his feet, but he isn’t going to be on it long. He’s swift down to the second landing and faster to the main floor, and he follows the long hallway to the back that guides him to the basement stairs. The dungeons are the worst at night—the only torches in the house that don’t automatically flicker on as he comes and off as he leaves. They stay silent and dead, and he walks through the dark with one hand on the wall, bones stiff but knowing it will all be worth it. 

The room he heads for is bolted tight, but he has the key on a thin chain around his neck—a treasure he dug up in the garden. Why it was buried, he now knows, and that tells him to keep it a secret. The entire room is forbidden—every room that houses the late Dark Lord’s old trinkets is.

This is the only one Draco cares for. The door is heavy to push away, groaning loudly. The hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stand on end. He feels blindly through the dark for the smooth wooden surface of another door, standing alone and peculiarly upright in the middle of the room, seeming to lead nowhere. He finds his way to the handle. 

He twists it, and it clicks, and when it opens, there’s light on the other side. Draco steps through it, disappearing to this world. The door swings shut behind him. 

“Took you long enough,” the other one drawls. He’s spread out on the bed, just where Draco left him. Lying on his stomach, feet crossed and in the air, the slender young adult is utterly naked, pale and beautiful in the low light of the chandelier above. He sighs and stretches out, delicate fingers seeming to call Draco closer. “Don’t you know how bored I get when you don’t come to play with me?”

“Forgive me for thinking servants of the Dark Lord have other things to do,” Draco snorts, but he’s already unfastening his robe. He lets it slither down from his shoulders without a second glance, and he steps straight out of the puddle on the floor it creates. The other boy grins at his naked form, and Draco struggles not to preen under the attention. He knows he’s beautiful to look at. 

He knows this from what he sees in his doppelganger: the spell of this ancient door that’s somehow twisted itself into Draco’s body, a spitting image, flawless in every way. He even recognizes the attitude, and the way the other Draco’s grey eyes flicker over him is familiar to the way he’s often eyed himself in the mirror. He puts a knee on the green silk bed sheets, sitting up and sitting tall. The room is only this: a four-poster on a lush, circular carpet, trapped in stone walls that don’t seem to exist anywhere else. This room, he knows, exists just for _him_.

The other Draco reaches to finger the key around Draco’s neck, and belatedly, the other boy purrs, “You know I’m the servant of no one.” Arching a pale eyebrow a second later, he corrects with a smirk, “Well, except myself, of course.”

“But no one can blame you for that,” Draco says, eliciting a sharp laugh. 

“Naturally not.” The warm fingertips slip away from Draco’s chest, leaving the key to rest heavy on its own. The false Draco finally pushes up to sit, and he rearranges his legs beneath him, elegant in any pose. “So, do you want to top this time, or shall I?”

It takes Draco a moment to think on it; both are appealing as, obviously, he has an excellent ass and a delicious cock, but his yawn decides for him. He’s tired, and he supposes while he crawls up to the pillows, “Take me.”

As soon as he’s lying down on his stomach, a shadow moves over him, arms to either side of his head. He feels smooth thighs land atop his. A wondrously sensual voice hisses in his ear, “With pleasure.” He’s kissed on the back of his head, and he leans into it. Merlin, he has a good voice. 

He has a good everything.

This room is a special one, the parameters of which Draco still isn’t even close to understanding. But who needs to try? He’s the most interesting part of it, by far, and he relaxes his muscles atop the blankets and lets the magic go to work. The doppelganger’s palm runs down spine, dipping down his lower back and curving over the round globes of his ass, and Draco’s channel instantly responds. There’s a faint tingling sensation, and something slick and cool eases inside him, some sort of lubrication dribbling up out of nothing. Draco’s ass is kneaded and played with while they both wait, each cheek squeezed separately and lightly slapped here and there. He can’t blame the other boy—he enjoys his ass, too. He flexes it teasingly under his lover’s expert ministrations, and he’s kissed on the shoulder for it, a light chuckle ringing in his ear. 

“I missed you,” the other Draco sighs. His runs one digit down Draco’s crack and then seems to decide that Draco’s ready, pushing gently against Draco’s puckered hole until it gives. Draco bites down his gasp, and his ass loosens accordingly, the magic still at work. Maybe it’s making his arms and eyelids heavy too, filling his mind up with fog, but it’s more likely the sheer pleasure of getting to bed _Draco Malfoy_. It’s excellent luck for him, really. He couldn’t have a better partner.

He half-groans, “Naturally,” in imitation of his imitation. The other Draco chuckles again and pushes his finger farther in, starting to piston it, even though there’s no need. Even with the room’s precautions, one can’t be reckless, not with a beautiful doll like Draco that clearly needs to be handled _right_. Draco enjoys the gentle probing for as long as he can before his cock starts to fill against mattress. He’s never been particularly patient. 

He bucks up into his other’s hand and murmurs, “Are you going to fuck me, or are you just going to play with my ass all night?”

“That might be fun,” the other Draco sighs, pulling out his finger and wiping it on Draco’s cheeks, now rosy from being toyed with. “But then I should’ve used my mouth before the lube came in.”

“You can’t control the flavour?” Draco asks, glancing over his shoulder with a lifted eyebrow. 

“Can you?”

“No, but I’m real.”

“And so am I,” the other boy insists. He stretches out again, elbows returning to Draco’s sides, chest lowering down until it’s pressing into Draco’s back, both bare and torturously warm. His cock slides between Draco’s cheeks, wet already and hard and big: the perfect cock for Draco’s perfect ass. The doppelganger whispers in a honeyed voice, “Real enough to fuck you, anyway.”

And he pushes inside with one, quick thrust, which easily steals away Draco’s response and his voice. He’s left moaning instead, arching into his body as he’s filled efficient and fast, skipping two, three centimeters at a time, until he’s full of cock, so full, just the way he likes. The other Draco knows just how to handle him, kissing the back of his neck and reaching under to stroke his chest, tease his nipples. Draco turns his head for a signal; the other Draco twists to meet him, their tongues coming out at just the same time. This other boy kisses like a dream, talented and right. When he pulls back, he licks Draco’s cheek crudely and croons, “You’re so pretty.”

Knowing that doesn’t make Draco like hearing it any less. He grins back and orders, “Fuck me.” He bucks his ass for good measure, crystal clear. 

The other Draco, as proficient in bed as everything, happily obliges. He lifts his ass up and takes his long cock with him, and Draco mewls at the slow slide out of his ass, his tight walls gripping at it and almost not wanting to let go. He knows he’ll never find a better cock to take him, a better boy to stretch out along his back, better fingers to tug his nipples and stroke back his hair. He lies there and takes it, a luxurious prince with a master at work. The thrust back in is sheer ecstasy. The right angle every time. One hand tightens in the blankets, and the other reaches backwards. He gets a hold of the doppelganger’s hip, following the line to his ass, squeezing and biting his own lip. The other Draco kisses him again and sighs, “What a lucky man I am, having you beneath me, begging for it...”

Draco would say that he doesn’t beg, but he’s busy thinking how lucky he is too, and then he’s getting another thrust that grinds his cock hard into the mattress. He finds one of the other Draco’s hands and forces it beneath his stomach, showing it the way to his cock. He needs to be touched. He needs to be stroked and kissed and sucked, and maybe a few minutes after this, they’ll lie side by side, head to foot, and taste each other properly. For now, Draco thrusts into his doppelganger’s hand and moans with the pleasure, throwing his head back against his own. 

The other Draco dutifully takes care of the pace, pounding him into the bed harder and harder as they go, until Draco’s writhing with pleasure and keening in delight. He’s torn between thrusting his ass up to be fucked and pushing his cock down to be touched. He doesn’t have to do either; he’s fucked into just the right place, over and over. His moans mix with the other’s, so very like his own, their combined noises bouncing off the walls and harmonizing like sordid, dirty music. Draco loses himself in the pure bliss beneath his skin. His stomach coils and his head’s full of clouds, and his own drawling voice purrs in his ear, “You’re beautiful,” and, “So tight,” and, “I could fuck you all day...”

Draco moans, “ _yes_ ,” and wishes they could. Why should he ever leave? No one else will ever be able to make him feel the way _he_ does. No one else will ever be so gorgeous, so skilled, so intuitive to every little thing Draco wants. He soars into a torrential flood of elation until he thinks he might pass out from how sweetly wonderful it is. 

And then the rapture comes—a sudden burst of white behind his eyes and a scream from his mouth, his cock exploding into a warm palm and his own seed rushing into his ass. He can feel it soaking his front and his back, knows it’s the same, and his head falls back and his toes curl. It’s so, so good, that all he can do is scream and moan and squirm, the Draco above him just as ecstatic. They’re spilling at just the same time, and Draco hungrily turns for a kiss, settling for a cheek when the doppelganger doesn’t turn in time. Then it’s lips on lips, messy and harried but striking, their hips milking out both their orgasms. 

When they’re done, Draco still feels so very good, so warm and spent. The other Draco rolls off him, collapsed beside him, face up but staring sideways. Draco stares back: grey eyes in grey eyes. 

A bit of time passes, panting and coming down, looking at and occasionally feeling each other’s bodies, wiping sweat-soaked bangs aside and eventually entwining fingers. 

The other Draco sighs, a smirk twisting onto his beautiful lips, “I love you.” The sincerity in it is powerful: a single, selfish truth from a pure-born snake. Draco’s smirk mirrors the statement, but he doesn’t bother to say it aloud. They both know. 

A few more lingering minutes, longer-lingering touches, and Draco slips from the bed. He finds his robe and steps into it, tying up the sash and deciding he’ll save his bath for tomorrow. With his hand on the doorknob, he looks over his shoulder. 

The other Draco calls lazily, “Don’t forget me.”

Draco laughs and opens the door to leave. He drawls his own truth while the door shuts behind him.

“You’re all I ever think about.”


End file.
